Some Have Charm, Other's Have Disney
by Binet-Simon Scale
Summary: Murdock's idea of flirting is singing Disney songs to BA.
1. Once Upon a Dream

Disclaim: I do not in any way own the A-Team and other associated characters.

"We're lost, Bosco."

BA growled flipping through some stupid maps and guides, uselessly. The maps don't mention that every fucking tree looks the same. His first mission officially with the team and he was stuck in the middle of the woods with that crazy ass fool he specifically asked not to be put with.

"So…wanna make out?"

"Whatda? Fool, I don't even know you!"

Murdock frowned, that's all Face has to say, was he not doing it right? Maybe he shouldn't do it Facey's way – maybe his? Does he even have a way? He never felt like this before it was love at first medical emergence like in those Disney movies he watched as a…perhaps he did have a way.

"I know you," he sang gentle, softly, testing the grounds, then louder with confidence, "I walked with you once upon a dream!"

"What is wrong wit you!"

"I know you,"

Bosco turned agitated, Murdock grabbed his wrists twirling him around the trees, continuing, making sure to maintain eye contact, "The gleam in your eyes is so familiar, a gleam."

The larger man pushed him back, but Murdock held on to one wrist, turning BA's threat into a ballroom twirl, "Yes, I know it's true, that visions are seldom all they seem."

BA took his unoccupied hand and squeezed on the tall pilot's hip, grinding his teeth at the small rush of arousal he felt when Murdock's back brushed against his chest, "But if I know you, I know what you'll do,"

Murdock grasped BA's stubbled cheek, turning their faces till lips almost brushed, "You'll love me at once the way you did once upon a dream."


	2. Kiss the Girl

Disclaim: I do not in any way own the A-Team and other associated characters.

Hannibal was always three steps ahead of everything, including Murdock's horrible seduction methods, points for creativity though better then Face's "wanna make out?" line, despite the fact that Face's worked. Murdock's, eh, not so much – weren't southern man supposed to be good at courting?

"I don't like boats," a rather green pilot muttered.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with being on the earth for once, fool,"

Hannibal had sent them on a mission, told BA to wait for a signal in the middle of a lake concealed be thick willows. BA learned quickly that Murdock gets very seasick, punctuated by the trail of half digested food the left behind.

"Okay ready Face?"

"Ready."

"Percussion."

Bosco startled as drums sounded softly in the distance, "You hear that?"

Murdock heaved.

"Strings."

A guitar melded in.

"Okay now I know you heard that right?"

"Winds."

The flutter of flutes dancing in the breeze, "Fo sure you heard that right?"

"Words."

"There you see her sitting there across the way she don't got a lot to say but there's something about her,"

"We must be close to like a wedding or somthin', right fool." BA reasoned trying to see through the thick leaves. "Fuck ever as long as it ain't tryin' ta kill us."

Bosco took Murdock's dry hack as affirmation.

"And you don't know why but you're dying to try you wanna kiss the girl. Yes, you want her look at her, you know you do it's possible she wants you, too? There is one way to ask her it don't take a word not a single word go on and kiss the girl."

Murdock sat up clumsily whipping the remaining stomach vile from his lips, leaving them raw and red it was sort of hot, BA thought, in a morbid kind of way. Kind of wanted to give them a little nip.

"Sing with me now sha-la-la-la-la-la my, oh, my look at the boy too shy he ain't gonna kiss the girl sha-la-la-la-la-la ain't that sad? Ain't it shame, too bad you gonna miss the girl."

"Ya know Muds, I ain't know your first name," BA was rather curious not even Hannibal knew, "mind tellin' a fellow ranger?"

Murdock hiccupped.

"I could guess – um – Henry? Howard? Hank? Um, there ain't alotta H names is there? Harvy?"

"Holland," Murdock gurgled spitting out white foam into the waters.

"That kinda gay, man."

"Now's your moment floating in a blue lagoon boy, you better do it soon no time will be better. She don't say a word and she won't say a word until you kiss the girl,"

The boat rocked, as if kicked, Murdock toppled forward landing in Bosco's arms, eyes locking.

"Sha-la-la-la-la-la don't be scared you got the mood prepared go on and kiss the girl sha-la-la-la-la-la. Don't stop now don't try to hide it how you wanna kiss the girl sha-la-la-la-la-la. Float along listen to the song the song say kiss the girl sha-la-la-la-la-la music play do what the music say you wanna kiss the girl."

Bosco's head ducked just a little, "Holland," and it felt good on his tongue.

"You've got to kiss the girl why don't you kiss the girl? You gotta kiss the girl go on and kiss the girl…"

Murdock closed his eyes, BA's slid down barely open, bottom lips just touching, he stopped, unsure. The boat rocked again, harshly flipping it over Murdock scrapping at the bottom, "I can't swim Bosco – I can't!"

"What kinda dumb fool you gotta be to go on a mission in the water and not know how to swim!"

"Dammit Face!"

"What? I was just trying to hurry things along."

Hannibal sighed.

Face smirked, "Wanna make out?"

Twenty minutes later Murdock and Bosco reaching the shore whilst Face's tongue was halfway down his throat Hannibal was beginning to understand why that line worked so well.


	3. I Bring You a Song

"Goddammit! I can't take one more song Murdock! Why do you do this to me? You don't sing to Hannibal or Face – why just why?"

Murdock looked scared and confused, "But I thought it was working."

BA calmed himself, tapping his fingers on Murdock's knuckles, "What was working?"

"I bring you a song," Murdock was a surprisingly good singer when he took his time, "And I sing as I go for I want you to know…"

Was this the crazy fool's way of telling him something important? Fuck he felt low, "Know what, fool?"

"That I'm looking for…romance…"

Bosco's heart pounded, his first instinct to yell to scream to punch this emotion away and Murdock with it yet he couldn't his fist sweaty and tongue thick.

"I bring you a song in the hope that you'll see when you're looking for me," he stood, delivering a small kiss to between BA's brows, relaxing his forehead, pulling back he carried on, "That I'm looking for love."

Murdock slinked around him, nimble fingers dancing across his tightly spun flesh, "I'm seeking that glow only found when you're young and it's May," fuck today's May fifteenth and that made what Murdock wanted all the more real.

"Only found on that wonderful day when all longing is through," fingers teased at the low riding hem of his pants, "I'm seeking that glow only found when a thrill is complete," traveling around to his front, running a single digit down the zipper, "Only found when two hearts gently beat to the strength of a waltz that's both tender and new," his heart wasn't gentle beating it was hammering, shit he didn't know how to waltz. Did Murdock want him too? Fuck he'd have to ask Faceman to teach him that suave sonovabitch would know how.

"I bring you a song for I'm seeking romance," Murdock's whole frame draped over him, he never realized how tall and broad the pilot was before, he always seemed so small next to his fists.

"You're by my side there's a moon up above it shines with a light that's so mellow and bright it's easy to see that tonight we shall fall in love," he think he could do this – be in love, raise a couple of kids behind a white picket fence, take the dog to the park for afternoon picnic, fly a kite with little Murdock Junior and watch Murdock feed baby Bosco he could – no, no – he can't, but he figures loving Murdock in like loving a drug; dangerous, rough, unpredictable, hiding out in seedy motels, steeling semblances of a normal relationship in between death and life, heated nights leading to cold mornings – he could do that, almost.

"I bring you a song for I'm seeking romance," they stayed like that a long while even after the sun replaced the stars.


	4. Candle on the Water

The world screamed around him, shaking in the throes of chaos. Sounds so loud they deafened him completely giving only the occasional relief in the form of dying screams. None of this registers only a thought mindlessly screeching in his head; _Bosco's been shot._

One of those screams escaped his lips, drowned out by the ring of white hot explosions – _Bosco's been shot._

His gun fired at some point, smoke still caressing the tip, Bosco's shooter twitching the last of his life away across the room of the tiny dug out. He pulls Bosco close onto his lap racing through his mind are images of dancing with abandon in the woods, shivering wet on a shore line a faint heat still on his lips, body draped over another's like now as if his gangly limbs could offer protection.

Bosco's been shot. And the thought is killing him.

"I'll be your candle on the water," he sobs, "My love for you will always burn," striving to hold on to good times, "I know you're lost and drifting," when the words made sense, "But the clouds are lifting," when the world made sense, "Don't give up you'll have somewhere to turn."

Nothing changes, louder – his mind shouts, sing it louder, "I'll be your candle on the water," louder, "'Till ev'ry wave is warm and bright," even louder, "My soul is there beside you," even more louder, "Let this candle guide you," louder – louder – louder, "Soon you'll see a golden stream of light!"

Voice hoarse, he coughs, lungs heavy and he doesn't know why, "A cold and friendless tide has found you," he only knows Bosco's been shot, "Don't let the stormy darkness pull you down," and he needs to do something, "I'll paint a ray of hope around you," anything to open those closed eyes, "Circling in the air,"

The ceiling cracks, shelves tumbling down onto them, smashing him further into Bosco, "Lighted by a prayer…"

"I'll be your candle on the water," he wheezes pushing against the steel shelves, "This flame inside of me will grow," he thinks Bosco moves, blinks, twitches, something, "Keep holding on you'll make it," grabbing a heavy wrist he fumbles for a pulse, "Here's my hand so take it," maybe it was the way the plaster fell in the dark but he's almost positive a hand wrapped around his.

"Murdock? BA?"

Bosco's been shot – he screeches, "Look for me reaching out to show!"

"Murdock? Murdock! Hannibal – here over here!"

"As sure as rivers flow," the hand around his goes slack, "I'll never let you go," or maybe the plaster just shifted, "I'll never let you go," for the first time he looks at his chest sees the red stain on his voltron shirt and laughs in despair when the first crack of sun rains past Face's form, "I'll never let you go..."


	5. He Lives in You

Murdock's knee still hurts, years after that particular battle when Face and Hannibal barely pulled him out in time, directly below the cap where his heated pistol barrel dug into his skin, he often wonders if he hadn't worn the jeans with holes in the knees – like Bosco told him too – would it still sting with phantom pains? It doesn't matter, he thinks, because something always hurts and it wouldn't matter 'cause if it wasn't his knee it would be his nose from when that dirty cop Sanders broke it, or his baby toe from when he was six and thought he had a better hold on that jar, maybe even from the first time he banged his head a little too hard when skateboarding. No this was better – this reminded him of his greatest failure, even his mind, no matter how crazed, couldn't escape something so physical, unfortunately since some days – most day – every day – he wants to forget.

Forget Bosco. And that he killed him because he wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't ever enough. Was too much of a dreamer, an optimist, some naïve man that was fool-hearty enough to believe he could soar.

"_If the lord wanted man ta fly he woulda given 'em wings. If the lord wanted fools like you ta fly I'd've became a Buddhist."_

He'd challenged that, then, and succeeded, now he wasn't sure if he could. He just felt so heavy and tired like all the years came crashing down in moments never to stop because everything related back to Bosco somehow. At first it was the obvious things that really got to him, when John had been going over the plan and forgot – forgot that they had to leave Bosco down in the rubble since there just wasn't enough time to carry dead weight – he'd talked for a second like Bosco was there and him and Face –Templeton, he remembers, because once they were a man down the nicknames seemed to make it all out to sound like a game and perhaps it made them sloppy – just pretended because for a moment, weak from hunger and insomnia, they were together again, all of them. Decades later it seems there isn't much that won't bring a painful memory to his mind's eye he hopes one day he'll see something that triggers a happy time before this past world consumes him wholly.

"_You speak Swahili?"_

Yes, he recalls, yes he does. He can sing in it too and he remembers those final moments thinking irrationally that the louder his song the more power he held, hopefully the ability to save lives, he thinks that Bosco had always been right – he was a fool. The though made him laugh and he tried to count the times he'd been called as such by the man and when he ran out of fingers and toes he sung like a fool would, "Night. And the spirit of life. Calling."

"Oh, oh, iyo," he rocks back in his chair, it squeals in protest, he doesn't mind Bosco will fix it one day, "Mamela – oh, oh, iyo, and a voice just the fear of a child; answers. Oh, oh, iyo, oh mamela, oh, oh iyo." Days long ago, or maybe just maybe because after all his sanity had slipped eons ago this was fantasy, but he sees Bosco and himself dancing in a forest, though he can't remember the man knowing how too, "Ubukhosi bo khokho - We ndodana ye sizwe sonke."

That should be Swahili – he assumes, he may not have ever really known the language, still he mumbles some lines through his haggard coughs, "He lives in you. He lives in me. He watches over everything we see into the water into the truth. In your reflection he lives in you."

In the blank screen of the television Murdock sees himself, briefly concerned that he looks so old, deeper though if he tilts his head and squints just right light manifests itself and he sees the silhouette of a man with gold around his neck and blood running in rivers across his skin. Murdock shuts his worn eyes happy momentarily that his knee only hurts when it gets below fifty-five degrees, the same temperature that underground bunkers are kept at, the same temperature Bosco felt on his last day and every day since for forty-seven years.


End file.
